The Machiavellian Prince
by Tidia
Summary: Brotherhood AU. Language warning. This is set during the time when Sam is away at school. Men rise from one ambition to another: first, they seek to secure themselves against attack, and then they attack others. Niccolo Machiavelli
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Machiavellian Prince

By: Tidia

Disclaimer: Ridley created The Brotherhood AU and Kripke created Supernatural. I do not profit from either

Comments: This fic was mentioned in Ridley's Valuables. This was inspired by a conversation with Winter, then I got carried away in the moment and incorporated quotes from The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli. It has been betaed by MOG, who sends me notes that say 'I know you're going to hate me but…' and for a moment I do, then I agree with her and change it to make this a better fic. Thank you to all my friends who understand my creative process and love me for it. Thank you to the kind readers who take time out of their day to read.

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Part 1

_He who has not laid his foundations may be able with great ability to lay them afterwards, but they will be laid with trouble to the architect and danger to the building. _

_Niccolo Machiavelli, The Prince_

Caleb entered the living room to find Dean sitting on the floor looking at a cut on his arm and John behind the dusty couch, his rifle relaxed as the spirit they had been fighting disappeared.

"You okay?" Reaves offered a hand to Dean in order to pull him up to a seated position. The room looked a mess. The spirit having thrown what seemed to be every available object at the two hunters, trying to save itself.

The other hunter accepted the hand. "Just a little cut." He nodded, showing Caleb the shallow cut down his left arm, which had ripped the long sleeve of his shirt. "I can clean it in the car."

"Deuce," Caleb teased, "next time run for cover faster."

John walked around the room, and then out back, making sure the area was secure.

Dean dusted off his jeans. "Next time why don't you salt and burn faster, Damien."

"Youngest hunter is always bait, written in the manual."

Dean gave a twisted grin, recalling how many times they used the so-called hunter's manual to foil his little brother. "Sammy's not here. I know there's not a manual, dude."

Their discussion was interrupted by a barked order. "Pack it up, boys."

The Impala was parked just outside the dilapidated Safner residence. Caleb got into the front passenger's seat. "Why don't you stay with Mac for a few days? I'm heading out of town for two days tomorrow morning to check on a job . . ."

"We should get back on the road. . ." John stated as he started the engine.

Dean was already in the backseat with his ripped shirt off. He had cleaned the cut with alcohol and was spreading a layer of antibiotic ointment over it. "We can do some research at Mac's, get ready for the next job…Caleb and I were looking at some sightings in Texas."

"So you two were thinking of joining up to do a job together?" The question was directed to Caleb. Dean was busy rifling through the first aid kit for a bandage, but answered as he ripped open the package for a gauze pad

"We've talked."

Reaves shrugged his shoulders. John had been asking Caleb to throw some jobs Dean's way. And the twosome made a great team. The Texas job was more involved than the usual weekend salt and burn.

"Fine, we'll impose on Mackland." John relented, giving a nod to his protégé.

"It's only imposing when Mac has to find another place to live." Caleb snorted. His father had moved four times in recent years.

"That was not my fault," John replied indignantly.

"That's right," Caleb grinned, "Bobby makes a good scapegoat." It seemed the older hunter always blamed Singer. It was probably one of the reasons why their relationship had hit a rocky road recently.

John was quick to retort. "And Joshua?"

Caleb rubbed the stubble on his chin. Whenever he hunted with Sawyer things usually didn't go as planned. "You have a point."

Dean snorted from the backseat. "I've got to find me a scapegoat."

In two hours they were comfortably ensconced in Mackland Ames's apartment. The two floor set up was spacious, but felt warm because of the dark woods.

When Dean's bedside clock showed two in the morning he knew he should be tired, but instead he felt restless. He kicked the covers off his bed, and padded into Mac's library.

He looked at the spines of the hardcover books. A lot of them were about psychic ability, medicine, and neurosurgery, but there were some classics. Dean pulled Niccolo Machiavelli's _The Prince_ off the shelf. He was flipping through the pages when Ames entered.

"Hey, Mac, up late?" Evidently all the late night activity had affected Ames's sleep patterns.

"Heavy reading." Mackland gestured to the book, going to his desk for some papers.

"I'm not stupid, no matter what you think," Dean muttered.

The doctor heard the comment and turned around to face the younger hunter. "I don't think that Dean. I hope I have never given you that impression." He studied the young man before him.

Dean shook his head and smiled sheepishly. "Ahh, yeah, I know. . ." The young hunter lifted the book. "Just needed something to put me to sleep."

Mac was not about to let the comment slide. The young man had been through a lot; Sam's absence and John's driven behavior had to be overwhelming to Dean. "Are you sure you're okay? Something you want to talk about?"

Dean shook his head again and backed away. "No, sorry." He grinned. "Ahh, goodnight."

Dean rested against the wall of the hallway. He felt uneasy. He hadn't meant to say anything; the comment had just verbalized itself. He tried to shake it off as he went to bed.

During the next two days Dean and his father researched their next hunts, seeing each other in passing in the evenings and in the mornings. Mac would be home earlier than usual and decided to provide dinner, which he would pick up on his way home. Caleb would also be returning from his business trip.

Dean slipped on his jacket, a chill having penetrated his very being. He called out to his father, who sat at the kitchen table reading the New York Times. They had just eaten lunch, and Dean felt restless. "I'm going out, going to check out that music store." Reaves had told him about a shop with a great collection of classic rock.

"Be back in an hour." John replied without looking up.

Dean waved in his father's direction, keys in hand. "Okay."

Caleb was tired. He had planned to be back in New York City much earlier, but instead found himself getting to his father's place at six o'clock at night. He didn't know where the time had gone between the hunt with the Winchesters and then needing to supervise a construction site. He was spent, and hoped to be lucky enough to get a day of downtime before going off to Texas with Dean.

"'Bout time," Caleb heard John yell from the hallway.

"Hi, honey, how was your day?" Reaves replied, confused by the brusque welcome. He headed to the refrigerator, took out the orange juice container and gulped straight from the bottle.

John met the young hunter in the kitchen and stared at Caleb in disbelief. His son had been gone for five hours. He was going to kill him. "Thought you were Dean. . ."

The psychic was too tired to worry. He knew John kept Dean on a short leash, and sometimes Dean needed some lag. "I'm sure Deuce's out finding trouble."

Again John's eyes glanced at the door. "Thanks for the reminder."

Caleb shrugged his shoulders. "Juice?"

The older hunter's answer was cut short, as his son slammed the entrance to the apartment. He entered the kitchen in a huff. In a few steps John was in Dean's face.

"Where were you-you're late."

Dean rolled his eyes and walked past his father, his shoulder rubbing against John's shoulder. "I know."

"Lose the attitude," John growled as his son turned his back.

Dean whipped back around. "You've got the attitude, old man, always ordering me around."

Caleb was shocked, but quickly recovered, putting down the orange juice. He stepped in between the father and son. "Whoa there, Deuce, buddy, what's gotten into you?" He grabbed Dean, pulling him away from John.

Dean struggled against the grip, turning his anger on Caleb. "You call your **friend** the fuckin' lowest card in the deck." He lessened his attack for a moment. "More like I'm the village idiot."

John took a few seconds to speak. His son's demeanor was off. This seemed more than just youthful attitude. "Dean, I want to know what's going on." John stepped closer to his son, who narrowed his eyes.

Caleb also took notice. Had something happened over the last few days? He then noticed the heat emanating through Dean's clothes. "You're hot."

"Didn't know you swung that way, Reaves." Dean broke the grip and backed up to the door. "I'm outta here."

Both Caleb and John followed the younger hunter out. Reaves saw his father exit the elevator, three pizza boxes in hand.

"Mac stop him!"

Mackland Ames instantly reacted, dropping the pizzas, and placing his arms out to stop Dean.

But, the young hunter was determined, and backfisted the older man. Mac deflected the blow, returning with an upper cut. In retaliation, Dean brought his head back and forward, striking the doctor in the forehead. The blow caused Ames to stagger back, giving Dean space to get by him to the stairwell.

Caleb, with his running start, tackled Dean as he reached the door. The younger hunter was not pulling any punches, immediately boxing Reaves's ears. The psychic's position on top of Dean enabled him to go for a choke hold. Dean placed his hand up, breaking the hold and pinning Caleb's leg, trying to flip him over. From above, there was a shadow, and then John's fist connected with his son's chin. Dean's head snapped back, and then relaxed into unconsciousness.

Breathing hard, Caleb stood up, shaking his head.

John kneeled next to his son. "What the hell is going on?"

Mac looked at Caleb, making sure he was fine before focusing on Dean. "Are you sure it's Dean?" He had never known the young hunter to lift a hand against those close to him.

"Yeah, it's Dean," Caleb replied, bending down and touching Dean's foot. This wasn't a skin walker, their minds were wired differently. They usually sought to blend with their surroundings. This was the real Dean, but something was wrong.

"Let's bring him inside." Mac took the boy's feet and his father took his shoulders.

Back in the apartment, Caleb pulled back the bed sheets and the two hunters gently set Dean down. Mackland took the young hunter's pulse.

"It's fast," he announced. "Caleb, get my bag."

A moment later Reaves returned from the bathroom with his father's medical kit. Ames had his hand on Dean's forehead. Caleb found the ear thermometer and handed it to his father.

The reading beeped 103.3.

Dean moaned, blinked then opened his eyes. His eyes widened when he saw the men around his bed. He scurried backwards against the headboard. "Stop it! Stop trying to hurt me!"

"We're not hurting you. . ." Mac explained. He lifted his hands to show he was giving Dean room. "We're trying to figure out what's the matter."

Forcefully, the young hunter shook his head. "Nothing…the truth…I'm not weak." He pulled his legs up.

John grabbed his feet, pulling them back down to restrain his son. "Dean, stop it, stay still."

"You don't even know me." Dean kicked his feet, fighting his father's grip. "I'm your son! I look like her, but you think I'm nothing. Well, you're nothing to me. . ."

Dean tried to squirm away using his arms to give him leverage.

"Hold him down!" John ordered Caleb.

Reaves began to shake his head, but then looked at his father who nodded. Caleb grabbed both of Dean's wrists, pinning them down.

Dean continued to fight, narrowing his eyes at the psychic. "You want to kill me. Want to be John Winchester's son and take my place…have at it. It's your dream after all."

"Did anything happen on the hunt?" Mac asked trying to make some sort of assessment.

"You think I'm the weakest link," Dean growled at his father, lifting his head. "Sam's better. Sam's your favorite. You made him leave. Hateful."

"He got a cut on his arm." Caleb answered, struggling to hold his friend.

Ames carefully slit the fabric of the sleeve to reveal the bandaged wound. It was seeping red.

Dean tried to twist his torso. "Stay away!" he cried out. "Tangled up right and wrong and you can't tell me. You're damned too."

"Deuce, come on. . ." Caleb pleaded for the insanity to stop.

"Don't look at me! I'm damaged goods!" Dean screamed at them. Reaves tried to comply and look away, glancing imploringly at his father.

And then the struggles lessened and Dean went slack. Mackland held a syringe in his hand. The doctor stepped back, exhausted and ran a hand through his hair.

"Dad?" Caleb saw his father was shaken.

"What'd you give him?" John sat on the bed, a hand resting against his son's leg.

"Sedative..should keep him out for awhile." Ames put the syringe down. With Dean unconscious he pulled away the white bandage to reveal the festering wound.

"That should have scabbed over by now," John said, getting closer to get a better look at the cut.

It had been a neat slice, but during the last three days it had morphed. A white, oozing crust had formed, peppered with fresh blood that was flecked with purple. The blood had spread out of the confines of the original thin cut.

Mac swabbed the infection, taking it as a sample before cleaning and bandaging the cut. He took a blood sample, placing the vial near the swab. Satisfied, he started an IV drip in the unmarred arm to keep Dean hydrated then prepared another syringe, injecting the antibiotics and an anti-inflammatory into the line. "I'm going over to the lab. There's another vial of Midazolam if you need it."

"Mac?" John stared at his old friend wanting answers.

"I don't know John. I need to rule out a few things." He placed a hand on John's shoulder. "I promise I will be back soon. I won't let anything happen to Dean." Mackland gave a nod of reassurance.

There was silence between Caleb and John as they watched Dean's chest rise and fall. The older hunter broke the reverie.

"Tie him down."

"John. . ." Reaves shook his head, remembering what it felt like to be tied down. He still had flashbacks about it, and never wanted to be in that situation again. He didn't want to put Dean in that situation either.

"Damnit, Caleb, do as I say!" John ordered. He found Dean's duffle bag and rifled through finding some duct tape. He cut off a piece and threw the roll to Caleb. John secured the right forearm, avoiding the IV, rounding the tape around then securing it to bed's metal frame. John glanced up and saw Caleb had not followed his instructions. "It's to protect him - so he doesn't hurt himself."

Caleb swallowed and gave a nod. He ripped off a piece of the tape and secured the left wrist.

TBC...

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	2. Chapter 2

**Title: The Machiavellian Prince**

**By: Tidia**

Di**sclaimer: THe Brotherhood was fortunately created by Ridley, and Supernatual created by Kripke. I in no way profit.**

**A/N: I was supposed to post yesterday (Sunday), but I had something much more important to do...beta Ridley's Wings of a Phoenix which is coming really soon! Then this site wouldn't let me post. . .Thank you for MOG for the beta work. Thank you for the kind reviews. I wish I could reply to the anonymous ones too…I am so glad that so many of you understand this concept. **

Part 2

_Men judge generally more by the eye than by the hand, for everyone can see and few can feel. Everyone sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are._

_Niccolo Machiavelli, The Prince_

The two hunters guarded their charge, shifting uncomfortably when Dean moaned in his sedated state.

Caleb cleared his throat wanting to correct Dean's earlier misconception. "I know Deuce's not in his bluebird of happiness mode, but I don't want him dead." Reaves stood up, checking on the youngest hunter again. They could not lose him, not like this. "He's your son. I'm not a wannabee Winchester either." He was glad Mac had raised him. He would always be in John's debt for being a mentor, and accepting a demon-tainted boy with no questions asked. There would always be that affection and loyalty.

John didn't spare the psychic a glance, instead focusing on the IV and its steady drip. "I know, kid."

There was an unsettled silence between them. John checked his son's temperature.

"Temperature's not going down." He brushed his son's hair, removing his hand when Dean seemed to shirk the touch.

"Mac will know what to do." Caleb put his faith in his father; hoping modern medicine would have the answer.

An hour passed before Mackland returned. He entered in a rush, carrying a filled plastic bag. He went directly to his patient, checking his vitals.

"I looked at his blood work. Minor infection with some elevated white cell count, but nothing that would explain this." He explained as he took Dean's pulse.

"No! Enough!!" Dean squirmed away, then settled again in a fitful state.

Mac kept his hand on boy's forehead. "We should have had another two hours on this sedative. It's what it used in surgeries." The doctor shook his head; he was going to call an ambulance. Just as he was going to make the announcement, he noticed the white bandage was seeping blood.

He pulled the bandage away, seeing the wound raw and just as oozing as it was before he had cleaned it. Ames touched the injury, sharply exhaling as he made skin to skin contact at the point of impact. What had done this to Dean had left a residue. Mackland's psychic abilities made a connection, and a vivid picture painted itself in his mind.

"Dad?" Caleb questioned, noticing his father's frown.

"Damn. Caleb, get me some holy water." Ames gestured to his son, who ran from the room to comply with the request.

"Mac? What's going on?" John neared his son's bedside, having given space to Mac for him to work.

The psychic returned with the squeeze bottle of holy water. Ames prepared another vial of the Midazolam and injected it into the line before taking a deep breath and dousing the wound with the holy water.

There was an immediate reaction when the blessed water hit the wound. Smoke fumed up, eating the discharge. Dean's eyes flew open and he strained against the restraints. He looked wildly about, fixating on the older hunters.

"I hate you! I hate what you did to me. . .what I became!" He moaned in pain, incoherent sounds, sounding animal-like.

Finally, the sedative and what Mac assumed was the pain from the injury caused Dean to slump into unconsciousness. Ames peeled back the young hunter's eyelids and checked for a reaction.

"Thanks for the show, Mackland, you want to clue us in as to what's going on?" John's arms were crossed, a sign he had lost his patience.

"You need to go back. This isn't-" Mac covered the wound with a bandage again. They were hunters. He was the Scholar and had assumed it was a medical problem not a supernatural one. "What did this was cursed."

"Did you see what it looked like?" Caleb asked to get a picture in his mind. He could tell his father was blaming himself. Reaves was also sharing the blame.

"It's a small trinket box, gold, sharp edges. A gaudy red stone on the top." Mac swapped out the IV bag. "Go back to the house, and I'll call Jim."

Without a word, John left the room to gather his things. .

Caleb stayed behind to have a moment with his father. "You going to be okay with rabid Dean?"

Mac narrowed his eyes at his son's off color humor.

"Right. . ." Reaves grinned, but he wanted to say more.

Ames saw the doubt in his son. "Caleb? We'll get him through this."

Caleb wanted to tell Mac that he was glad Ames was his father, he was proud to be adopted by the doctor. They had been together twenty years, and there didn't seem to be sufficient words. "Thanks, Dad."

Mackland understood, and was touched. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

"Move it Caleb!" John Winchester called out.

"The dulcet tones of John Winchester beckon." Caleb gave his father a nod.

"Hurry. And be careful." Ames walked his son to the bedroom door. He grabbed the portable phone from its cradle and called Pastor Jim to explain the situation. He hadn't wanted to worry Caleb or especially John, but they were losing Dean. He took a seat in Dean's room, watching his patient, and hoping the pastor would answer the phone.

Jim was an expert on cursed antiquities. He answered on the third ring. "It's Mac. Dean needs help."

It was a short conversation. The pauses between the two members of the Triad spoke volumes.

"I'll be on the next flight out."

"I'll tell them, and have a driver waiting at the airport for you." Mac concluded the conversation with his friend.

In the car, John had yet to apply the brakes, trying to eat up the miles as quickly as possible. There was a stressed silence between the two men caused by their concern for Dean.

"Next time I'm going to be bait." Caleb announced to John.

"What?" Winchester replied.

"Deuce is always the bait." Caleb thought of the last few hunts they had done together. Dean acquiesced to his father, not willing to argue with the man or cause trouble between Reaves and John. Life had taught Dean to give in, to be the peacemaker. "Maybe it's better to change up."

"You're keeping count?" John said matter-of-factly.

"No." Caleb hadn't kept count until now, until it was a problem. He glared at the senior hunter. "Why the hell are you so freakin' calm, Johnny?"

John spared a sidelong glance. "'cause I need to be. We're on a hunt, have to stay focused."

"Focused. Riigghhht." Reaves looked out to the passing scenery. Just this morning he had been in Pennsylvania on a job site, and in a whirlwind he returned home to find Dean crazed out of his mind and they were off to a hunt, again. "And what Dean said doesn't bother you?"

John did not reply.

"That's what I thought." The psychic dropped his head back against the head rest. He heard his cellphone and patted his pocket, trying to remember where he had placed the ringing object. Finally, he found the phone. "Dad, we're hurrying." They had only been on the road for half an hour.

"You need to get something personal from the spirit." Mackland stated.

Reaves rubbed his forehead. Only with Dean could a simple cut become so complicated. "You want us to panty raid the house too?"

"Caleb. . ." Ames warned.

He knew everyone's patience was becoming thin. "Fine, fine, something personal - got it."

"Dean?" John said when the psychic had closed his phone.

"Fine. Mac just needs something else to help him from the house." Caleb sighed.

Another hour passed and they were at the house. It looked the same as when they had left it. They had stirred up a decade's worth of old dust when they had last been there. Time had not been kind to the Safner sisters' home.

The sisters had an _Arsenic and Old Lace_ theme, killing men that found their way to the ladies' doorstep. Vivien died ten years before her sister, Luanne. Luanne was the spirit who put up a fight.

John moved items on the floor with his boot, shining a flashlight as he went.

Caleb took the other side of the room. "Are we burning the place, Johnny?"

"Later." The older hunter bent down. "I think I found it." He removed the dust, and lifted it up for Caleb's examination.

It was a square, gold trinket box about two inches in size. "Is there any cursed object that isn't damn fugly?" It was ornate, and its edges were sharp. "Got to be it."

"Get something personal and let's get out of here." John took back the box, slipping it in his barn jacket pocket.

Caleb went into the bedroom on the first floor, rifling through one of the drawers. He pulled out a handkerchief embossed with the letter 'L'. "A snot rag, great, well, it's personal."

Please take the time to tell CW how much you enjoy Supernatural:

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	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** The Machiavellian Prince

**By:** Tidia

**Disclaimer:** Thanks to Ridley for The Brotherhood! I do not profit from using Supernatual characters so I am only borrowing them.

**Author's Notes:** I know that the alerts are down, but I still wanted to post. I should tell readers about my writing style-I write the whole fic out, only then do I start posting, in that way I know that the story will get posted. I appreaciate and thank you for all the reviews. It is lovely when readers take their time to comment. This part I hope I pulled off as emotional. Thank you to Mog for betaing and for Ridley for our crazy conversations.

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Part 3

_Since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between then, it is far safer to be feared than loved._

_Niccolo Machiavelli, The Prince_

The downstairs security guard shook his head as he watched Mackland Ames's son and friend run into the building. They had been very busy tonight. The guard watched them in the elevator until they exited on the eighth floor. There were no cameras on the hallways of the floors. The guard shrugged his shoulders.

Mackland heard the door slam. He checked on his patient, who was still resting, then went to greet John and Caleb, closing the bedroom door as he exited.

"How's he doing?" John asked, heading for the bedroom.

Ames stopped him, wanting some time to talk away from Dean. "I had to sedate him again. I can't keep doing that. Midazolam is an amnestic, also causes problems with coordination."

"Is Jim here?" Caleb looked around, not sensing the pastor. They had been gone three hours, enough time for him to travel from Kentucky to New York.

"He got a direct flight out of Louisville. My driver just picked him at JFK." Mac replied to his son, but still kept a hold of his friend's arm. "John, I want your permission to put Dean in a drug induced coma."

John frowned. "Is that safe?"

Mac licked his lips. "In a hospital, yes, but here, there may be problems. . ." His explanation was interrupted by a crashing noise from the bedroom.

Caleb opened the door, surprised to find that Dean had made it out of bed. He was sitting in the corner of the room with his IV ripped out. Some of the duct tape was stuck to his skin. The young hunter held a piece of glass in his hand and made a slice in his forearm. He licked the blood, tingeing his mouth and lips red.

"That's disgusting Deu-Dean." Caleb grimaced.

"Son, put down the glass." John lowered himself down to the floor. "You need to trust me." He reached out, hoping Dean would hand over the broken glass. He cursed himself silently for not removing all breakables from the room.

Dean wrapped his hands around his head, firmly holding the glass. "I've done that. You think I like the plans that have been made, what I've done. . ."

Reaves lowered himself to the floor too.

Dean looked wildly at the other hunter. "Stay away…just let me go," he hissed.

"We can't do that, Dean." Reaves tried to edge closer.

Dean brought his hands down, and opened his arms out wide. "You've already broken me."

The young hunter looked up and saw Pastor Jim now in the room. Dean cocked his head to the side and licked the blood off his lips. "Here I am the sacrificial lamb - all part of your scheme. Give up on Dean, feed him to the wolves."

Jim stepped forward, but Mackland shook his head.

Dean crunched the glass in his hand and didn't register any pain as his hand dripped blood. "I'm not real. Disappeared - for you, for your cause." He sobbed, and pounded his chest. "I still carry the guilt - it's heavy."

"We can help you. I can carry the guilt for awhile." Pastor Jim said as tears ran unchecked down his face, never imagining Dean Winchester being brought to this state.

The blond shook his head. "You're not going to help me. You never could."

John reached out, and Dean shifted further away. "You're trying to break me!" he yelled, then started to laugh. "I'm already broken." The laughing turned into panting and Dean fixed his glare at the psychic. "Get out of my head!"

"Caleb, don't go into his mind…back off," Mackland said to his son, placing a hand on Caleb's shoulder to break the contact.

It was too late. Reaves had seen an opportunity and he took it, forcing himself into Dean's mind. But it was a jumbled tangle, impossible to comprehend. Caleb felt an immediate headache. He grabbed his head as he retreated. Mac was at his side.

"Who's gonna save me?" Dean began to rock back and forth, banging his head against the wall. Sobbing he uttered, "I'll be good. I promise. Just don't leave me. . . "

The hunters waited, John and Caleb on the floor, Pastor Jim and Mackland hovering, waiting for the tragic scene to finish. They remained until the young hunter was exhausted and stopped banging his head. John reached out with tenderness none of them had seen and pulled his son close to him in a hug. Dean dropped the glass, and John with Caleb's help brought Dean back to bed. "Do what you need to do Mackland."

Ames nodded, and immediately pulled out the drugs he would need.

John held his son's arms, although the fight seemed to have left Dean for the moment.

"I need to see the object," Jim stated.

"It's in my pocket."

The pastor went into the canvas jacket John was still wearing. He studied the trinket box for a moment before excusing himself. "I'll be right back."

Dean's wrist were raw from the duct tape, the IV's removal had left a mess. Mackland started another line at the inside of the elbow, and tossed his son a blood pressure cuff to place on Dean's other arm, below the injury. A monitoring of Dean's blood pressure would be needed as the doctor prepped to place Dean in a drug induced coma.

"Are we calling Sam?" Caleb asked, looking at John who had focused solely on his son.

John shook his head, letting Dean's wrists go when Mackland nodded. "No, I'm betting on Jim."

Caleb's eyes flashed in anger. "This isn't a game of poker, Johnny, this is your son."

"House always wins, kid." John stood up, and waited for Caleb to step away. The psychic gave his mentor a wide passage, and watched him leave the room.

"Dad, is Dean going to be all right?"

"I hope so. I hope so."

The comatose state saved Dean the agony that the others witnessed. Jim burned the handkerchief, sprinkling the ashes into the cursed cut.

With a lighter, he heated a brass knife he had brought with him. The yellow glow of the hot metal mesmerized the hunters. Caleb had never seen the pastor work with these elements. It was another side of the Guardian.

The knife was placed against the wound, sealing it with a smell of burning flesh.

"That'll leave a mark," Caleb commented. The remark was ignored.

They leaned in, watching as the black particles of the burned handkerchief were absorbed and then disappeared completely as they ate away at the infection until only the original thin cut shone through.

"It's done," Jim announced, wiping his forehead.

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TBC... 


	4. Chapter 4

Machiavellian Prince 4/4

By: Tidia

Disclaimer: see previous posts

Author's Note: Special note at the bottom. Thank you to Ridley who prompted me to post this twisted tale! Thank you to Mog for betaing. Glad the alerts are working once more, and I hope I answered all reviews. I appreciate people taking the time to review, and I am thrilled to have garnered the attention of so many other fanfic writers to name a few because I will miss some Samsra, TraSan, LovinJackson, and HTMarie. I should be posting a new fic next week-Ridley has nicknamed it a 'connector' story since it really has no plot. lol

Part 4

_There is no other way of guarding oneself against flattery than by letting men understand that they will not offend you by speaking the truth; but when everyone can tell you the truth, you lose their respect._

_Niccolo Machiavelli, The Prince_

John and Caleb sat in the quiet bedroom, watching over Dean. Mackland and Jim had gone into the kitchen. They were all waiting for the drugs to wear off, which according to Mac would be soon.

Caleb stood and stretched, deciding he needed another cup of coffee. He headed out down the hall. He heard the murmuring voices, and instead of announcing himself he stayed hidden in the shadows of the hallway to listen.

"You have some doubts?" Mackland asked the pastor.

"I do," Jim confirmed as he stirred his coffee. He removed the spoon. "Were those his insecurities laid to bare?"

"There had to be some truth to it," Ames replied, taking a sip of coffee.

"Which means we're at fault," Jim rubbed the back of his neck, adjusting his collar. "I feel at fault."

"He strong - stronger than we give him credit for." Mac held the cup, looking into its inky depths. "We've all taken bites out of him, and he's still here - persevering, surviving."

"The wonders of the human spirit," Murphy commented with a little awe. He was always amazed how the young hunters were able to do their work.

Ames was worried about what the future had in store for Dean. "I wish though… Caleb went to college. Sam's away."

"But Dean, Dean remained." Jim looked beyond his friend as if seeing through the walls into the bedroom.

"He should have been allowed to pursue other interests - pursue his dreams for awhile." It had been a futile conversation that he had with John many times.

Caleb stepped in, revealing himself. "His dreams can't come true," he stated to the two men. "Sorry to interrupt." However, he wasn't. He had asked both of them numerous times to get involved and help Dean. He loved John like a brother, a mentor, but didn't agree with how he handled his sons, especially Dean. "Isn't this all a little too late? You should have intervened awhile ago."

"Caleb. . ." Mackland admonished his son.

But Reaves ignored his father, charging brutally ahead. "I spent a lot of time with that kid. He barely keeps his head above water, drowning in responsibility."

"It was his father's decision. . ." Jim tried to interject.

Caleb was older, wiser now, having reached thirty and was not going to be ignored. He needed to talk about this. "His father? John? Fucking added weight to his ankles to help him sink. Left me being the life preserver and it was never enough." Caleb swallowed, feeling a wave of guilt. With Dean he had never felt as though he had done enough. The young hunter had grown into a fierce warrior, but it was his fear of abandonment, of not being able to protect Sam or John, which carved his soul.

Mackland listened to his son's diatribe. He waited for Caleb to pause. "Son, why all the nautical analogies?"

"I thought you loved fuckin' metaphors, Mac." Caleb replied, catching the frown on his father's face. He felt helpless. He thought of all the times in his life when he was unable to control a situation. It all stemmed from his parent's death at the beach house hence, the nautical analogies. But, he wouldn't tell that to Mac.

"Enough with the language, Caleb." Jim stated.

"Sorry, Dad." He apologized to Mac, who gave a nod of forgiveness.

The pastor, satisfied with the younger man's contriteness, folded his hands. "Caleb, we can do something now to help Dean."

Caleb crossed his arms, not relenting. If he was the next Knight and Dean the next Guardian then he had to protect the younger man. "He and I are supposed to do a job in Texas."

Murphy remained patient. He was proud that Caleb was taking responsibility as the next Knight to protect the next Guardian. "Go on your hunt. When you're done come by the farm."

Caleb frowned. "This like Luke getting training from Yoda?"

"I'll prepare him." The pastor knew some time alone with Dean - researching, hunting with him - would help bring out the best in the young man. He had always considered himself close to Dean. Sam had Mac to be his mentor, and Jim always wanted Dean to believe Jim was his. Perhaps he had made mistakes where Dean was concerned, but there was still time. "Some time away from his father would be good too."

"You better take care of him, Jim," Reaves warned.

"Anything else, Caleb?" Jim raised his eyebrows. "As I recall we are on the same side."

"Sorry, it's just…" The psychic raked a hand through his hair.

"I know."

Hours later Dean awoke, groggy and unsteady but no longer crazed. Dean saw the other hunters by his bed-Jim, Mackland, Caleb and his father. He looked at them in confusion. He rubbed a hand down his face. "What happened?"

"You had a scratch that got infected." Mackland went with a basic story.

"Jim?" Dean didn't understand what the pastor was doing there.

"I wanted to see my favorite boy." Jim answered.

"Here I thought I was your favorite." Caleb quipped.

Dean frowned. He couldn't make sense of it.

"Get some sleep, Son." John said, and rubbed the top of Dean's head. The younger hunter was unable to keep his eyes open. He fell into a steady sleep, waking when Mac came into the room to check on him the next morning.

"Hey," Dean greeted the doctor, and stretched. He was clear headed, but couldn't remember how he had gotten the cuts on his hand or arm. He could remember much except going out to check the nearby music store.

"How do you feel?" Mackland took out his stethoscope.

"Better." Dean allowed the doctor to hear his heartbeat and take his pulse. "I can't remember anything. What happened?"

Mackland hoped he wouldn't ever remember. "You were scratched by a cursed trinket box. It caused an infection which brought about a delirium."

"Cursed trinket box sounds so lame," Dean stated. "And you needed Jim because of it?" He remembered the pastor being in the room when he had first woken up.

Ames kept the conversation light, divulging as little as possible, but still being informative to allay any suspicions. "He is the resident expert on antiquities."

Dean accepted the answer. "Where is everyone?"

"Sleeping." Ames folded up the blood pressure cuff, tidying up. "You gave us quite a scare."

"Guess I was just craving attention." Dean grinned.

Mackland just nodded, and looked awkward. He cleared his throat. "Anything you need? Books, magazines or . . . music? I know you like music."

"Yeah, I guess you can say that I like music." Dean frowned in puzzlement.

Ames pulled up a chair. "Who are some of your favorite artists? What are their influences?"

It was odd. He knew the doctor was being friendly, but it sounded like a job interview. This wasn't his normal conversation with Mac at all. "Ahh, yeah, are you looking to broaden your taste? I didn't know you liked classic rock." Dean tried to play along.

Mac seemed to think about this. "I enjoy Brahms, but all music is related."

"Right," Dean said. He had no idea who Brahms was.

Mackland rubbed his hands together at a loss of how to continue the conversation. He stood up. "Try to rest some more. I'll bring you a little food."

The strangeness continued the rest of the day when Jim visited before his flight. Dean began to think he was in an alternate universe when the pastor heaped praise on the young hunter.

The short conversation with his father was scary.

Finally, Caleb sauntered in, and Dean hoped he could get some answers to allay his worrisome thoughts. He tossed some magazines in Dean's lap.

"Some oldies but goodies for you, Dean." Reaves sank down in the chair in his old room.

The young hunter grinned as he looked at the old Playboys. "You're a good man, Damien."

Caleb snorted. "Took me all morning to figure out where I hid them." He looked at the issue on top with Pamela Anderson on the cover. "But, Dean, it was well worth it."

Dean causally flipped through the magazine then pushed them aside. "What did I say when I was out of it, Damien?" The blond hunter purposefully used his nickname for Caleb, noticing Reaves was avoiding calling him Deuce.

Reaves shook his head. He thought he was safe, and had avoided the questions. "The usual. Some colorful vocabulary you got there. Mac's ears turned red. Jim wanted to wash out your mouth."

And for a moment it seemed as though Dean believed it as he grinned. "I must have been pretty bad for everyone to be freaky nice around me."

"Freaky nice?" Caleb wanted to groan. He had no idea what the other hunters had done.

Dean counted on his fingers. "You've been calling me Dean. Mac wants to have a discussion about music and Jim's feeding my ego. . ."

Caleb winced, for all of their skills the hunters evidently lacked the ability to employ subterfuge. "And Johnny?"

"He said I should call Sam."

Caleb rubbed his forehead. He was impressed John had deigned to give his permission. "Are you?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders. It had been tempting, but wrong. Sam wanted space and his older brother was going to respect that as much as possible. "Sammy wants normal. I'm not a part of that."

"Normal is boring." Caleb knew what it cost Dean to stay away from his brother. They had all heard how Dean had issues related to Sam's leaving during his delirium. "Sammy doesn't know what he's missing with us freaks."

"Missing, yeah. . ." Dean seemed to fade away in thought. He returned his gaze to Caleb. "So come on, what did I say?"

"You just scared the shit out of them." Caleb grinned and patted the younger man's arm, avoiding looking at the cut that caused the problem. "They'll get over it when you're back to your annoying self."

Dean accepted the answer. He must have been really sick to have forgotten what had happened. "We still heading to Texas?"

"Soon as Mac gives the okay."

The blond fingered the magazines and brought them back to his lap. "Cool, maybe we can stop at the little bar…"

"On the border?" The older hunter grinned knowing exactly where his friend wanted to go. Giz & Hums' Billiards & Brew was filled with great memories.

"That's the one." Dean smiled, looking forward to the adventure. "And Caleb?"

"Yeah?"

"Call me Deuce."

The end

**POSTCARD CHALLENGE**

Ridley is sending out a challenge. We hope other authors post this on their stories and follow suit. Rumors have it that out show may not be renewed (60/40 odds). We of course want to help. So readers and fellow authors spread the word (feel free to post this on boards and websites)

Because the show is about a road trip please send a postcard from your hometown telling Kripke and the CW the show has fans from Your Town, State, Country.

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**(remember US residents will need an airmail stamp or two 39 cents stamps)

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Canada


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